The Abandoned Heir

Afraid that I would overthink things, my parents reassured me, saying that no matter what had happened in the past, Ethan was only an adopted son. He would never pose a threat to me.

"Owen, you're our real son," my mother had said, holding my hand tightly. "No one can take your place. Ethan understands this, too."

I wanted to believe them.

I spent an entire month meticulously preparing for the shareholders' meeting. I barely slept, pouring over documents, fine-tuning every detail of my proposal. I imagined the pride in my father's eyes, the approving nods from the executives, the feeling of finally proving myself. I wanted to surprise my parents, to make them proud of me.

But in the end, it was all just an illusion—a fleeting, fragile dream. To them, I wasn't their long-lost son. I was just an obstacle standing in Ethan's way. I guessed, in their eyes, controlling Griffith Group was far more important than keeping me.

The weight of that realization crushed me. My fingers curled against the wheelchair's armrests. The autumn air was crisp, but it wasn't enough to numb the ache in my chest.

I didn't even realize how long I had been eavesdropping until a voice jolted me from my thoughts.

"Mr. Owen, why are you here? It's chilly outside. If you catch a cold, Mr. Peter will be worried. Let me push you back inside."

Hearing the housekeeper's voice, my parents quickly rushed to the door. They appeared at the doorway, their eyes widening in shock when they saw me.

For a moment, their faces paled. Then, without hesitation, they took the wheelchair's handles and pushed me back to my room. My mother followed closely behind, her gaze darting to my face as if searching for any signs of distress.

Sitting in the wheelchair, my expression was blank, my heart hollow. My mother knelt in front of me, her red-rimmed eyes glistening with sorrow. Slowly, she reached out and stroked my forehead, her touch filled with what seemed like genuine affection.

"Sweetheart, it's my fault for not protecting you." Her voice trembled.

She lowered her head, gripping my hand tightly. "Tomorrow, I'll have the doctors move into the house to take care of you. You will recover, Owen. One day, you'll be able to stand again..."

Her words were filled with warmth, with love. But now, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't feel it. Not anymore.

I swallowed the bitterness rising in my throat and forced myself to smile. My fingers tightened around her hand as I whispered, "Mom, I want to eat your sweet and sour ribs. Can you make them for me?"

She blinked in surprise, then quickly wiped away her tears and nodded.

"Of course! Whatever you want, I'll make it." She cupped my cheek gently. "As long as you're happy, I'd give you everything."

My father was nowhere in sight. Perhaps he was still busy in his study, meticulously organizing the equity transfer documents, ensuring that everything was in Ethan's favor.